How I met the other Officers
by The Fish with no pen
Summary: Yes,they're the best at their field, but slag if they stay in my unit." Random collection of drabbles on how I feel the Officers of the Ark had met and acted when they were just lowly grunts with insane behaviors and glitches. Pre-earth.
1. Cue the flashbacks

_**Disclaimer:**_ Don't own, just playing in the sandbox until I get chased out.

* * *

Optimus Prime had never been questioned on his choice of officers, those who would lead in his stead when forces needed to be split and in a way, made up his own council for each decision to be made. Keeping a system of checks and balances in place so that no extreme could dominate the choices unless it was the best choice for all it involved. A group that would be the paradigm of what it meant to be a faithful autobot in this war, as a collective symbol of what others should strive to become, while they looked to Optimus Prime as the infallible leader that could do no wrong.

Of course to those that had ever known the group of officers before Optimus had been given the Matrix of power, all systematically crashed upon seeing for themselves who these officers were for the first time. To the Ark crew it was mostly an odd rumor with an occasional witnessed report of one of the high officials upon meeting one of the Prime selected officers shorting out, nothing more and nothing less. Until after a particularly brutal battle that landed a large chunk of their numbers in the medbay right before an officer from Cybertron arrived. The sequence of events was told in the same order of the large mech greeting Optimus and the small group that did not have major injuries, hearing the names of the missing officers and where they were currently at, the mech all but running towards the Medbay, to stop in sheer astonishment and wide optic staring at the group of officers sitting or lying against one wall of the medbay (Depending on their injuries and energy levels), and only a strangled phrase that sounded almost like, "You lot really are officers…" before the mech promptly had smoke curling from around his logic processors and suddenly becoming well known with the ground as he crashed.

As one every optic of the crew turned to the group of officers, silently asking for an explanation. Ratchet glared and went back to reconnecting Bluestreak's foot, Prowl silently ignored them all, Jazz grinned, Blaster and Wheeljack just laughed a bit, and Red Alert just twitched before curling farther into his corner. The arrival of Optimus Prime and Ironhide with the rest of the Ark had those optics go from staring at the group to staring at the Weapons Specialist.

"Ah havn' the microchip worth of ahn idea on why they do that."

Optimus just looked as confused as they did, and the silence once more reigned. Sideswipe hobbling enough to poke at the still crashed mech on the floor.

"Wheeljack, you slagging start it."

The voice of Ratchet startled a few into giving out a yelp of surprise, even as Wheeljack's earfins began to blink an amused shade of blue.

"Well, I can see why you ask me Ratch, I mean I'm not technically an officer, just seem to be around the officers all the time. Though I was there for most of the rest of you showing up, was probably a very boring stay for you at that base before the myself and the others started trickling in."

A brandished wrench did nothing to stop the amused tone from Wheeljack, but did make him actually start his story properly.

"Well, I should first ask if everyone is familiar with base Delta Five Seven Nine since that death trap of a base was where most of us met for the first time. This was before Optimus was Prime and the war hadn't gotten as bad as it is now mind you…Ratchet had been there already a Vorn and I was the next lucky one to be exiled to that rock…"


	2. Wheeljack meet Ratchet

_**Disclaimer:**_ Don't own, just playing in the sandbox until I get chased out.

_**AUTHOR'S NOTES AND WARNINGS:**_ Okay this and every subsequent drabble/chapter thingy is going to be Pre-earth and Pre-Optimus Prime. So people are probably not going to act like they do in canon, though I will try and keep the fundemental aspects there. Yeah, there will probably be OOCness as I try and imagine what the Ark officers were like as lowly grunts before the war went all FUBAR to the point the Ark was needed and all that. Don't kill me too badly.

* * *

**The Living Time Bomb meets the Hatchet**

He was starting to wonder just why he had joined this war. The thoughts of going AWOL by turning around and running all the way back to Iacon somehow started to formulate into a plan of action when the laser marked and slightly crumbling structure, that was to be his new base, came into view. At least the stories about D57 were living up to what he was seeing. They might even give him a medal if he managed to blow the entire thing up in one shot, thus forcing the army to build a new base or send them off this little rock. Or fall to back up plan B and somehow cause the officer quarters to spontaneous combust when no one was looking.

"So you're the new exile?"

The haughtiness in that particular vocalizer didn't make Wheeljack feel charitable when he turned to face the owner. Shiny armor, arrogant stance, probably a few mods that are more for show then actual combat usage…this must be his new superior officer. Wonderful.

"Designation Wheeljack, rank private first class, frontline gunner and engineer. Sir."

It took a bit of willpower to keep his headfins from glowing in smugness at the sour look that came over the faceplate of the officer. He played this game before, and wasn't going to just hand out reasons for demerits or brig time. At least not until he got his hands on a few chemicals and started working on projects again or they found the solar grenades he stockpiled into compartments on himself that were not made to hold such things.

"Listen here private. You and I both know that this place is the closes thing we have to the Pit base wise, and all the other mechs like you are here because the regular army doesn't want you in their troops. You think you're getting off being sent out here where not even an attempt to make this a stronghold is made, but you listen and you listen good. I don't care what you do to offline yourself in your spare time, but you will obey my orders and you _will_ follow protocol when those Decepticon slag do show up. This pit spawned base is your new home for however long you live out here, or manage to shape up enough to get transferred. Thus, you will defend it like your very own sparkling was inside. Do I make myself clear?"

"Like a non colored quartz formation sir."

Somehow that cheeky remark was going to come back to bite him in the aft, for now he was too busy getting acquainted with his new base at a quick jog. It was not running away if the one made at you didn't chase you down. The hasty self imposed tour of the base did not help his mood much, it really was the fragged out piece of slag people talked about when warning new mechs not to do anything too stupid, and was that an outline of a mech using laser fire!? To the labs then, if this place had labs and were not currently being used as an illegal chemists lair for home made high grade.

Feeling tension ease from struts and cables as a relatively untouched, and more importantly still stocked (If a bit outdated on some things) lab with a little recharge berth set in what was once probably a closet, was found and became his by way of hacking the access codes to his choosing. After all he didn't see any sort of security mech and certainly no one would begrudge him this method as it involved a lot less paperwork. Now to see what project he could scare up with the materials at hand and finding out how to get more through the quicker channels of the soldier black market.

Decacycles passed in a hazy pattern for him. Online, refuel, work on a project, insult but not really insult 'Officer Fragger', work on his projects some more, and just for variety have to head out to a skirmish with some Decepticons that were probably bored out of their processors to attack here. Sure some of the projects went up in a flume of smoke and a satisfying boom, but nothing big enough to warrant finding out who the medic, or mech acting in place of a medic, was just yet.

Primus had it out for him though as it was not an experiment gone wrong that landed him into staring up at a cracked, yet clean ceiling one fine cycle, but someone taking target practice into the hallways and clipping an arm compartment with a few solar grenades in it. Well that will teach him to duck faster in the corridors as most of those here couldn't hit the broadside of building with guided missiles. The fuzzy contemplations came to a shattering end as a dark shape came hurtling from somewhere across the room as he had began to sit up. The resounding clang of metal meeting metal mixed well with the yelp his vocalizer emitted as pain blossomed over his circuits from the middle of his helm outwards.

"What the frag kind of idiotic pit created slagger carries solar grenades in an arm compartment!? An arm compartment that is clearly not made or reinforced to handle the carrying of such explosives, oh wait the same idiot that for past few Decacycles have been causing explosions in the lab area of this pit spawned base and does not come to medbay when injured."

That angry voice began to move closer to his prone form and solidified into a white and red mech waving a wrench to punctuate each point in the rant still going strong about idiots, explosions, and general wound stupidity. How wonderful, the medic had a slag good throwing arm and had no qualms using it on the injured.

"I do believe we are now to be forever on each other's slag list."

The medic stopped mid-rant and glared at him for a moment, before promptly began to weld his arm back together…without any pain killers.

Insane Medic: 1 Crazy Engineer: 0

This was the start of a beautifully insane friendship.


	3. Crazy duo meet Prowl

_**Disclaimer:**_ Don't own, just playing in the sandbox until I get chased out.

_**AUTHOR'S NOTES AND WARNINGS:**_ Okay this and every subsequent drabble/chapter thingy is going to be Pre-earth and Pre-Optimus Prime. So people are probably not going to act like they do in canon, though I will try and keep the fundemental aspects there. Yeah, there will probably be OOCness as I try and imagine what the Ark officers were like as lowly grunts before the war went all FUBAR to the point the Ark was needed and all that. Don't kill me too badly.

* * *

**Tactician makes three**

The black and white armor was extremely optic catching amongst the riot of colors most armor sported in the rec room. Though if the monochrome didn't do it then the sheer stillness and, apathy you could call it, the new mech was able to radiate while looking over datapads made optic ridges rise up in bafflement. The only thing keeping most of the jaded individuals from circling the new prey like a sharkicon smelling energon would was the sight of the two mechs that had decided to sit across from the new one. No one really wanted to deal with the Hatchet on a good day, and Wheeljack was considered to be able to make air explode if given time; so it was with great slowness and fear that most began to edge away when _both_ sat next to each other to eye the black and white one. Anything that made the both of them team up and not be glaring laser beams at one another was to be avoided at all costs.

"A tactician huh?"

Blue optics met blue optics, which met again blue optics before settling back to the task of writing out the forms to complete the transfer to the pit that called itself a base. A slight dip of a doorwing the only acknowledgement that could be taken as yes or no if one was not fluent in doorwing. Unfortunately for the one with doorwings, the two bereft of such were Academy graduates, and both had to deal with one or two like model mechs to make them learn that odd language just to be spiteful. A fact that was becoming distressingly known as the two managed to respond to his twitches accurately while trading insults with each other.

"So, what did you do to get fragged to this place? Like the insane engineer here with his love for blowing himself and every other idiot around him up in the name of science and thus ending up in my slagging medbay."

"Oh like no one has not faced your wrath Ratchet the Hatchet, medics are supposed to heal the wounded not throw heavy blunt objects at them the moment the medbay doors have opened enough for your wrench to go flying through."

"Pain is a great teacher, however the pain of the overall stupidity congealing within this base has not been enough and I am merely aiding it along to stop you idiotic fraggers from entering my medbay due to self induced injuries of such proportions that even the Decepticons would wonder about your overall value of your own slagging sparks."

"Still haven't found it in your _wise _and _charitable_ spark to forgive that one group for deciding a live fire exercise inside the base was a good idea?"

"You're only being a smug aft because you didn't get shot and don't you dare think of denting your helm in new glitch."

"I am merely contemplating if the facts and percentile are correct and high enough that the effort of one solid hit to a specific place upon my helm really does have enough force to offline me permanently."

The almost emotionless tone of voice would have put most to write the black and white as a preprogrammed drone if one was not used to catching subtle sarcasm and other emotions, mostly due to seeing how far before a superior officer snapped due to their own sarcasm getting to the officer mech. Oh goody this one was already jaded, they didn't have to deal with another happy idiot that tested the do not shoot your ally rule.

"If that was possible quite a few rusting scrap piles would be around these tables, considering how some of the gun happy ones seem to adore high grade."

"I find the results then insufficient and will likely find another way then."

"Or be like myself and the insane medic and survive everything just to spite the higher ups and Primus himself."

The silence held its breath as the tactician pondered this and the medic and engineer idly sat and waited. Blue optics brightened and the stoic faceplate morphed into something that, if any of the other mechs had been around, would have been considered quite attractive in a 'it's going to kill me afterwards' type way. Ratchet and Wheeljack were just amazed on little twitch of a lip component could do such a thing. The silence shattered like a fangirl upon seeing a con was happening right next door to her house and was free admission.

"Designation Prowl, rank Sergeant, tactician and supply logistician. I request that at some point the proper procedures can be taken so that when one does finally kill Officer Heavylift that we do not get taken in the fallout. Medic Ratchet, Engineer Wheeljack, I logically assume you have some idea on how this may fall into our favor?"

The youngling would do nicely.


	4. He's a tactician guys

_**Disclaimer:**_ Don't own, just playing in the sandbox until I get chased out.

_**AUTHOR'S NOTES AND WARNINGS:**_ Okay this and every subsequent drabble/chapter thingy is going to be Pre-earth and Pre-Optimus Prime. So people are probably not going to act like they do in canon, though I will try and keep the fundemental aspects there. Yeah, there will probably be OOCness as I try and imagine what the Ark officers were like as lowly grunts before the war went all FUBAR to the point the Ark was needed and all that. Don't kill me too badly.

* * *

**Who's the top dog now?**

It was a stand off of very Great Importance. So great that mechs from all corners and dark hidey holes were popping up just to take bets on the outcome of this stare down. Calculations flew through CPUs, credits and illegally modified high grade exchanged hands, and one or two opportunistic mechs had barricaded themselves into the Communication/Security room to record it all. Much to the annoyance and part glee of the ones who were supposed to be on duty in that closet pretending to be a room, who finally just gave up and joined the staring crowd. The air sensing the dramatic moment being made started to pretend its invisible heart out at crackling like ionization was occurring just from the glares being given.

Suddenly, as optics shuttered for a brief moment there was a flurry of limbs and clanging sounds filled the air. It all happened so quickly and with such efficiency that many who recalled insulting the supposedly glitched black and white colored mech began to back slowly away. Others just stared and imprinted the image into their CPUs to later share and explain in detail to others who would appear. In the same way that one, in hushed tones, would talk about their first meeting with the Hatchet or ending up in the blast radius of Wheeljack's newest mad scientist scheme.

"I would suggest that if you endeavor to attack a higher ranking soldier then yourself again, that you do not do so where witnesses may be at hand, and that the probable success rate of such an act is higher then a twenty seven point four four three percent."

The cold aplomb of such words directed at the down mech started to jump start memory chips about the sergeant that had been all but thrown into their base by the Iacon 'elite'. They forgot to correlate tactician with the fact that those who held that title often had battle computers with memory and processing power larger then most cpus that were devoted to nothing else but how to defeat an enemy in the quickest way possible. Whether that enemy was a group or a single individual. It hadn't clicked because the lightly armored black and white mech tended to be cordial even to the rudest of the mechs on this base, and hadn't been around long enough for any to see him against a Decepticon. And slag them all to the pit, because some apparently hadn't forgotten these details if the smug look the Hatchet was giving and the flashing of a pair of headfins from Wheeljack was to go by.

"So unofficially, Prowls in charge considered Officer Slaghead doesn't really lead and he just handed Loadbearing his aft."

"I think you are slagging right you crazy engineer."

The ever calm look Prowl tended to wore seemed to take on a decidedly sinister feel, just by him shuttering his optics about 1/3 of an inch down.

"That is the logical conclusion, which already raised the survival rate of our troops here from thirty seven percent to fifty eight percent if I am correct in my calculations that everyone will at least attempt to listen to my orders on the battlefield."

They were slagged six ways to the next vorn, but as they say; when trouble arises and things look bad, there is always one individual who perceives a solution and is willing to take command. Very often, that individual is crazy.

Base D579 just happened to have acquired three insane mechs that were somehow working together instead of just one individual.


	5. Frontline without the frontline insanity

_**Disclaimer:**_ Don't own, just playing in the sandbox until I get chased out.

_**AUTHOR'S NOTES AND WARNINGS:**_ Okay this and every subsequent drabble/chapter thingy is going to be Pre-earth and Pre-Optimus Prime. So people are probably not going to act like they do in canon, though I will try and keep the fundamental aspects there. Yeah, there will probably be OOCness as I try and imagine what the Ark officers were like as lowly grunts before the war went all FUBAR to the point the Ark was needed and all that. Don't kill me too badly.

* * *

**Never share a foxhole with anyone braver than yourself. **

It was decidedly odd just how determined the 'cons were in taking every single one of them out, and claiming the slag heap of a building they called a base as their own. There was a very large betting pool over this with the current leader in possibilities being that at some point before base D579 was constructed, the council had hidden a store of energon underneath the foundation of the base and just forgot about it. Whatever it was, it tended to land their base into Combat Alert at the worse possible times for many of them. Which for D579 residents meant in the midst of paying for indulging on high grade, or fragged enough to be in pain, but not enough for Ratchet to take you off combat duty, though many just thought the cons were somehow watching them and attacking to be spiteful.

The security mech they currently had was testimony to that might be true faction, as Wheeljack crouched farther into the little hidey hole he had found. Finding being a general term of dropping to the ground at a dead run due to laser fire and skidding into the hole, just as someone detonated a bomb that for once wasn't his fault. In fact he was starting to think of this hole as his and was quite happy to stay in it for the rest of this fight, sniping here and there when Decepticons got too close for comfort and sending out one of his bombs every now and then in a scatter and pray way just to cause more confusion.

Just because he was assigned to the frontline and had an unhealthy fixation for things to explode didn't mean he was insane like the rest of the frontline.

Though, for anyone who finds happiness during a fire fight it quickly comes to a shattering halt. This for Wheeljack and his happiness of not having to go see the insane medic and thus wining this round, came in the form of the recently minted security bot Livewire. The almost manic grin as he dove into the hole was enough to make Wheeljack contemplate losing this round and blowing himself up to get away from Livewire and his frontliner insanity that may or may not be contagious.

"What the slag you doing in here 'Jack? The fighting is out there!"

"I am well aware of this, now go away."

The density of the frontliner insanity, now to be known as FI, managed to deflect the sarcasm and general agitation that Wheeljack tried to convey in words alone. His face mask messed up the facial reaction and only a few seemed to be well versed in headfin code so he had resorted to small words when not around the insane medic and the slightly scary tactician.

"Another batch of 'cons coming our way 'Jack. Let's take them out!"

When asked for details later on by Prowl, the coldsparked aft and his thrice frag paperwork, Wheeljack could only recall the abject horror at watching Livewire jump up from the hole; clearly giving away their location to all and sundry, especially with that war whoop and burst of fire from his weapon into the gaggle of decepticons coming at them, and the sudden knowledge that he was very close to meeting Primus and to the act of trying to explain how he ended up there before his time. Ratchet only adding that he never seen Wheeljack move so fast before, as he did getting out of that hidey hole just as the enemy descended.

The three relatively sane soldiers of the outfit all decided it wasn't worth the dubious safety to hide out in a hole anymore. Especially if others of their unit were within running distance of said hole and the enemy.


	6. Red Alert and Blaster

**Don't ever be the first, don't ever be the last and don't ever volunteer to do anything.---**** The perfect officer for the job will transfer in the day after that billet is filled by someone else. **

**

* * *

  
**

"It doesn't seem like that bad of place Red Alert."

"To you maybe, it's an obvious death trap, there's no sane security network, half the cameras are either broken or malfunctioning; if they're not monitoring something useless like a wall! The entire command structure is a mess and has only kept a semblance of order because they resorted to primitive strength competitions. The superior officer that by protocol we have to report to is a narcissist coward that has not once set foot on the battlefield since being assigned there. The only reason he has a rank higher then a second lieutenant is that his creator is on the council. The only mechs you can trust to not intentionally kill you will kill you accidentally, and the ones you want to run screaming away from are the only ones you can trust on the field to not shoot you as well!"

"You've been there before haven't you?"

"They transferred me out just as an Engineer and a Tactician were being prepped to be transferred in."

"Well then you can show me around Red!"

"Blaster, would you let me beat you to deactivation at some point?"

"We'll see, we'll see."

"It is deeply disturbing you can sound so cheerful despite this topic of conversation."

"Because deep down you know you love me in that twitchy paranoid spark of yours."

The red and white mech just stared at the cheerful communication mech and fought a battle in his processors over how to respond to that. Opting for a neutral movement, as it was hard to dispose of bodies, and Blaster was the best shield Red Alert had found to use against the rest of his faction when they were out to get him and it wasn't his glitch talking. Instead he turned optics onto the 'ohgodwhyPrimusagainIwasgood' familiar building that still seemed to lean to one side and was probably only remaining upright by force of will and the judicious use of Ratchet's welder and stolen armor pieces that may or may not have Decepticon symbols on them, and let out a gust of air through his vents for something to do that was not detrimental to the online status of the other mech with him.

"I knew letting you volunteer us for things would get me offlined one day."

There was just a burst of noise that was supposed to be music from one of those other planets that Blaster got to visit at some point from someplace in Blaster, music that was probably acquired before he decided to go insane and latch on to Red Alert with some warped view of friendship, but that wasn't the main concern as Blaster was _touching _him and it was not helping his glitch calm down from its screaming of get him off preferably in a violent and messy manner. Handholding was apparently still vorns away from ceasing to glitch him and slagging Blaster ignored the sparks and growls of rage as he dragged the security mech into the Pit again. Oh look that outline of Livewire was still the first thing to see when you walked in, though it looked a bit faded in some areas which was a pity as everyone was hoping it would survive far past Livewire's deactivation. He should find that mech and see how the crazy frontliner was doing, as it was not that often one inflicted with FI got promoted into something like security. Maybe he could work under the radar and take over when Livewire was out getting shot at.

"A pity they gave the security job to some other mech though, it's not going to be the same without having to save your glitchiness from a crash when a camera goes boom."

Now the damn fragger was reading his mind. Glitch and CPU battle for control, failsafe systems hit the red emergency button! And in a shower of sparks and smoke floating from beneath the helm Red Alert gave in and just crashed right at the feet of Ratchet. The last thought that wasn't glitch tainted was a smug wonder on how many dents Blaster would have in his chassis when he onlined again. Ratchet hated having to defrag his cpu due to a glitch crash, and that so looked like the crash was Blaster's fault from an outsiders perspective and not a combo of Blaster and stress.


	7. Support stays in the back

**If you find yourself in front of your platoon they know something you don't.**

**

* * *

  
**

The mission had been a simple one and required only a handful of mechs to accomplish. Something that would have made Prowl leak fluids in joy, if he didn't try so hard to act like an unfeeling aft all the time, the moment it landed in his hands. Instead the lack of people being placed into the shiny new brig, how or where it came from no one knew and were not about to break into the security room to ask Red Alert that, was the only indication of how happy this made Prowl; for mechs not being punished for breaking rules was Prowl language to the act of jumping gleefully down the hallway.

The happiness may have caused a slight miscalculation in his team building for said simple mission, because in later reviewing of the post mission reports it was not clear why Blaster had been sent along. Though to salvage that slip up, it was labeled as field experience and the subject dropped.

Blaster just called it a reminder on why he was in a support unit and if he did fight he wanted to be in the back from now on.

Even if it meant making certain he had Red Alert chained to his servos since that mech would never let himself be about fifty paces ahead of everyone else when the Decepticons decided to attack.


	8. Red Alert the missile detector

**If at first you don't succeed, call in an air strike.**

**

* * *

  
**

Ratchet had seen many types of wounds, and so many ways one could acquire those wounds that he had learned to follow details to a source in such a way that Prowl would sometimes use him to gauge how well a battle was going. But, there was one thing that his training couldn't teach him, thus he relied on watching the twitchy red and white mech that had been assigned back into his hands with a new communication officer.

When Red Alert paused and cocked his helm at an angle to have an audio receiver pointed to the sky, Ratchet began to pack up.

When Red Alert then started to seem nervous and start backing away from the battle, Ratchet looked for cover or a quick retreat.

When Red Alert would dive for the ground with a strangled shout of "INCOMING!" Ratchet and whatever poor sap he had been working on were the first out of the firing zone when the sound of screaming engines met the rest of their audios, just as the missiles fell to the ground from the seekers.

That sensor net and paranoia was good for some things at least.


	9. And Jazz was left with the bill

**The most dangerous thing in the world is a Second Lieutenant with a map and a compass.**

**

* * *

  
**

Jazz was seen and considered as a very competent mech. Cool under pressure and with just enough showiness to make his missions memorable even in the dry language of mission reports. He was the favored mech in special operations and there was already talk of him taking over the division when Sideshot stepped down. He was great at information gathering, hacking into systems was a pleasant past time, and infiltrating Decepticon bases was a hobby he enjoyed. Making it on to the personal slag list of Soundwave had been met with a celebration, because he found it amusing that he managed to get under the telepath's plating.

Jazz was also sociable, he knew the history and inner workings of nearly every mech he worked with better then the psych corp, his charisma had soothed nerves and calmed tempers before he flitted away when everything was right again. So despite his short time in the military he had shot up in the ranks like a bouncy rubber ball that had first been dropped from, say the Sears tower. A bright future was awaiting him, if he could find the base he was supposed to do a surprise inspection at.

A task made the more troublesome and bizarre as he found himself watching an odd exchange with a group of mechs he had found conferring on the battlefield. He had adjusted his optics a few times to make certain he was seeing what he was seeing, and that they all indeed had the same bright red symbol he sported showing they were of the same faction.

"Livewire, it takes a very special kind of stupid to do what you just did."

"It worked didn't it!"

"How was that considered to have worked!?"

"…Could we please not ask questions about this and all of you just help me hide the body?"

"Prowl there is no where _to_ hide a body out here. You planning on propping it up against a rock and hope the Decepticons think it's just a random idiot watching the sky?"

The slim black and white didn't even move, but for a twitch in doorwings as optics stared into that of a white and green mech with headfins in a stare down of sorts. A white and red mech with the medic symbol on the shoulders stood nearby and idly poked the graying chassis with a pede while one red and grey mech kept another red with white mech from lunging at a bright green and manically cackling mech. It was almost funny if one was able to ignore the deactivated pile in the middle of this group, especially as one noted the purple Decepticon symbol and rank lines showing that someone was going to be in a rage amongst that group and Primus help the autobot caught in it.

Amusement though quickly fled when the little red and white mech suddenly stopped aiming for the clearly off balanced neon green one and turned wide optics to the slightly hidden spot Jazz had been crouched in. Blue sparks of energy suddenly rippling over the sensor horns on the red helm.

"DECEPTICON!"

Jazz was extremely impressed when the group, minus the green one still laughing on the ground, dove for cover and had various weapons out and trained on his spot before the echo of the shout had faded.

"That is not a slagging Decepticon Red Alert, unless they have a second lt. with our symbol running around."

"That's what they want you to think! It could just be a set up and the officer Livewire killed was a faux pass on us to lure us out and away from th-"

Jazz just raised his hands in the universal surrender/unarmed symbol as the visor wearing red and grey mech calmly silenced the smaller red colored one, just as the one with doorwings moved to the forefront of the group. Weapon still drawn and the impassive face barely showing any sign about his thoughts on what was going on. Even as Jazz noted how the group seemed to forget the high ranking Decepticon corpse in the middle of the group. The silence gaining the creepy tone as the rest not trying to stare the special ops mech down calmly packed up a few supplies like it was another practice drill.

"Blame him?"

"Blame passed!"

Jazz wasn't quite certain why, but he had a sudden urge to kill that group as they took off and left him with the pile of metal that could get him killed if found. That inspection wasn't important anymore in light of this sort of treason a bunch of unknown soldiers had just pulled on him. He would just have to find out what base they were at and get revenge later…when it was safe to be in this area again and off the frag list of any high ranking Decepticons.


	10. Always protect the rear

**Whenever you lose contact with the enemy, look behind you.**

**

* * *

  
**

"Where the frag did they go?"

"Wheeljack to Prowl, we have lost visual contact of the enemy status of them on other sources."

"Sensors indicate they are within the square as your team, please use caution."

That was a badly timed joke in Wheeljack's opinion as he was once more surrounded by frontliners. The only ones stupid enough to be an advance party on an actual, honest to Primus, tactically sound engagement with the enemy that didn't involve large amounts of stupidity or protect the base tactics. Which should have been the first sign it was going to go to the Pit considering the enemy they should right now be in a fire power contest with had vanished from optic range. Now they had to move about this square of the so called map and find them or call it quits and deal with the lightly armored tactician.

Decepticons or Prowl. There really was no contest; he at least knew what the cons would do to him, the black and white mech not so much. Especially considering that damn second lt. kept popping up and causing their slightly insane yet completely logically sound Sergeant to be driven up a proverbial wall when Red Alert wasn't being fritzed to an early deactivation over the ease that mech kept appearing in the base. Now to just find the fraggers, waste some ammunition, try not to get shot, and get back to base with minimum damage just to spite the damn Hatchet.

"Spread out! Basic search pattern, Prowl says they're still ar-"

"Wheeljack you thrice slagged fragger!"

The medic cursing him out was not out of the norm, but he usually saved that for after a mission or when…oh.

"The enemy has been engaged."

"A little late with the warning aren't you Prowl?"

The rear ranks were going to be not happy for a long while after this. If they didn't somehow scare the wiring out of the 'cons that decided to ambush the support troops in the back under some misguided impression anyone in this platoon was sane and nonviolent when provoked. A funny idea if it wasn't shadowed by the fact he would have to deal with Ratchet about this for cycles to come.

Thank Primus Red Alert stopped going on field missions unless ordered or he'd find his lab sabotaged again.


	11. Wanted, comm minions for Blaster

**Radios function perfectly until you need fire support.

* * *

**

The fight had been going oddly well for once. Ratchet wasn't having to jury rig any mech's internal systems with loose wires or broken gun parts, Prowl was not having to play officer and bark orders into the faceplates of everyone and their creators, and Blaster was managing to keep up with scrambling and descrambling the various comm. lines being used by both sides when needed. They had even managed to get that odd second lieutenant to be in charge of a secondary support squad.

Then the sudden push on one side of the front happened, causing their troops to have no choice but to scatter around the surge of Decepticons like angry ants. The sniper line was compromised and they had to listen to Red Alert's curses interposed with Prowl's terse commands and dry observation of various Decepticons that may or may not have been Prowl's version of insulting. Things went to the Pit in an express elevator after that.

-Blaster.-

-What can I do for ya black and white?-

-…Just send the signal for Second Lieutenant Jazz to send his forces in to coordi…-

Amazing just how much force a piece of rubble the size of a minibot's fist could have when shot into the air and into the back of a communication officer's helm due to an impromptu explosion.


	12. Field tested, Red Alert not approved

**If only one solution can be found for a field problem, then it is usually a stupid solution. ---If it's stupid but it works, it isn't stupid.

* * *

**

The problem with the normal area of battle was the lack of any real cover when it came to actually using their small sniper team effectively. Especially when their best shot was so paranoid and twitchy that it normally took being physically dragged onto the field and a threat of duty suspension to get him on the field. Red Alert however felt completely justified in his dislike of joining the rest of this death trap of a base's personnel out onto the field.

"It's so illogically crazy that it has to work!"

"Blaster the chance of it working are at a steady twenty point four six six three two percent no matter how much you change and recalculate the odds."

"The flying bomb idea had a lower odd of working, yet it did!"

"It also caused about half of the injuries that Ratchet had to take care of as well for that excursion. Making the success of it a great deal lower by the loss factor when calculating the report."

"At least this one doesn't have explosions?"

That Psych Corp mech clearly was wrong on all accounts on denying Red Alert's claims that his 'friend' was going to offline him one day. He just never figured the method would involve rope and him being dangled from said rope to snipe at Decepticons. It was not going to happen though if he had any say in this. Prowl was already losing due to the illogicalness of it all and would either crash soon, or give in when it hit that he can't really argue with the only mech keeping radio chaos at bay. That was something else he needed to work on, they were far too open to Decepticon sabotage having Blaster being the only one who had the sub routines to keep their lines filtered while unscrambling Deception channels. If he did a bit of tweaking with the consoles in the security room he could maybe bypass the subroutine bit an-

"WHAT THE SLAG ARE YOU DOING!?"

"Proving a theory!"

* * *

Visor met optics in some sort of silent contest which came to a halt when the blue optics narrowed slightly and a vent of air was released in exasperation.

"No, you can not borrow our sniper to try that plan at your base."

"Aw, come on Prowler it woul' be 'musing to say the least."

Both black and white painted mechs turned to watch as a little red and white mech chased around a laughing red and grey mech around the training fields. Only for the chaser to decide running wasn't working and instead threw the bulky looking rifle right at the other.

"I do not believe there is a percent higher then five that any of your men could even replicate that exercise and not get shot themselves. And you are not getting our communication mech as well. He's the only one we have."


	13. Medbay in need of more supplies

**If you are short of everything but the enemy, you are in the combat zone.---**** A good tape job will fix almost anything.

* * *

**

It had been, at the most, a few glancing blows that just needed a good hammer to the dent to fix. Then, like someone had finally noticed the elaborate domino setup in the middle of the floor it went to the pit. The wounded began pouring in and the oh so fun string of expletives that started to filter through the comm. links already gave Ratchet a pretty good idea they were outgunned yet again. When Wheeljack was seen flitting in and out of the little hole in the ground they were using as the away from base medbay to ferry injured and random body parts, Ratchet felt the cpu ache coming on.

Spare parts didn't fall out of the damn sky, and the ones that fell from shot seekers didn't count either.

-I think I just found Swiftstrike's arm…_and_ Lensbreaker's optic! Should I bring them in medbot?-

-Only if you can possibly not get shot this time Blaster. Bring Red Alert with you he's going to be my minion now.-

-Right oh, I just need to find whatever hiding spot he's in. Be there in a breem!-

For being a flighty mech Blaster at least was punctual. How he managed that in the middle of a battle was still contested by everyone, Ratchet was just glad someone didn't seem to fear the twitchy little sniper and would drag that nuisance by the pedes if it was needed to where that mech was supposed to be.

"You are monopolizing my only long range fighter again."

"Mute it tactician or I'll leave your wing off and watch you run into a wall off balanced just to be spiteful."

The black and white sitting on the small mound of debris, being used as a work bench and repair berth, just stared back in a blank fashion; even if the sudden stiffening of said appendages gave away that he took the threat to heart. Becoming even stiller, if that was possible for this mech, as red hands carefully reinserted one of the badly abused wings. Only to note it wouldn't stay in and retreating to come back with a roll of sealant tape.

"Perhaps it is feasible to restructure the distribution of the funds we are allotted."

"About time your number crunching cpu figured that out. No point in bullets if all your damn fighters are too scrapped to fight."

The sudden crash as Wheeljack, who was dragging in a few of the more insane of his group, meeting forcefully with Red Alert, who had been thrown in by a cheerful Blaster, stopped the barely civilly toned sniping between medic and sergeant for the time being. Mostly due to the fact Ratchet had started barking orders at both engineer and sniper while handing out the sealant tape and telling them how to use it for anything from a busted energon line to putting limbs back on certain idiots so they could still shoot.


	14. Red light means stop, just like bullets

**The only thing more accurate than incoming enemy fire is incoming friendly fire.--Incoming fire has the right of way.

* * *

**

Wheeljack could quite clearly, without hesitation or even the need to take his findings to one of those thrice slag committees, that everything going wrong in his life was all the fault of this war. Though, he did privately believe that a few individuals amongst his 'comrades' were also factors in his bad luck so far in injuries that were not brought on by lab work.

"Are your optics malfunctioning!?"

"Well get your aft out of the way then! Primus forbid you close quarter fighters ever be wrong and jump in front of a shot."

Oh yes, a nice factor in his luck so far. A pity the crazy medic was only a small factor in the blame.

_Krrack…Krrack_

Odd, Red Alert wasn't on the battle roster for today and Blaster couldn't hit a gestalt team in combined form for anything. The only other gunner in this outfit that didn't need to be in range of the enemy was…Prowl must have had a doorwing clipped again.

"CHARGE!"

"Wait! Slaggit Motorwheel, not while Prow-"

_Kraack_

-Hey Prowler ah thin' you just shot yer own teammate there.-

It was like watching sparklings. Sparklings learning road courtesy, only with _bullets _instead of other sparklings_._ He was not in the right clearance to be teaching things like, when someone is shooting the bullet doesn't know it needs to stop and not hit you because it came out of a gun of your ally.

-I refuse to fix any more wounds of stupidity today.-

-…The trajectory and angle at which that shot was taken would feasibly be considered a minor wound. Which internal repairs can handle.-

-You were aiming for someone shorter then Motorwheel weren't you?-

Wheeljack wondered if the Decepticons had to deal with things like this, or if it was just him.


	15. Never bet against the engineer

**Turret mounted machine guns usually work better than lights and sirens.

* * *

**

The hallways were oddly crowded at the base this cycle, whether that was due to the rash of newly minted idiots being shipped in at the same time, or the fact that they had someone been chosen to play host to the Wreckers as they restocked before heading off to another hot zone was up for debate. All that it meant to the unofficial officers of base D579 was that they had to employ new tactics to get from point A to point C without getting shot at by point Z. Prowl being the ever opportunistic mech in terms of working anything into fitting protocol and training for future engagements, already had the paperwork filled and processed for the occasion orns in advance. Which was also an indicator that perhaps the silent tactician hoped some of them would offline themselves during the 'live fire in close combat areas training.'

The point system and Blaster locking himself and Red Alert in the Security/Communication closet to be referees was a spur of the moment addition by half the base who wanted a way to make this into a betting sport. Which turned into an outright brawl as half the betters were stupid enough to be caught cheating and thus dissolved when Prowl dropped out of an air vent from nowhere to break it up and send them to the brig for gambling while on duty.

This was probably a good thing for their credits, energon rations, and various favor tabs that had been on the table before the bets were nulled. As they would have all lost to Wheeljack since he knew that there was a large pile up in the hallway leading to the Medbay and Ratchet was currently trying to herd several of the Wreckers and Red Alert into that den of pain, and that it only takes about five astroseconds before Ratchet stopped using his sirens to clear a path and instead let his patients shoot the obstacles.

Though, letting the Wreckers see how deadly accurate Red Alert could be with a sniper rifle even while fritzing may or may not have been a good idea. Even if it did make that hallway barren of anyone for the next few orns.


	16. Prowl, get use to these stunts please

**If your attack is going really well, it's an ambush.---**** If you survive an ambush, something's wrong.

* * *

**

When Motorwheel's unit had breached past the predicted area of engagement and had sent the group of Decepticons on the retreat, Prowl started a call for a retreat of other units. Ignoring the questioning looks of the Saboteur that had shown up again to drive him insane, by being too high ranked to smack, he managed to get half of his group out of the combat zone when it happened. He wasn't surprised in the least when from seemingly nowhere a large contingency of Decepticons came pouring into their ranks and thus causing everyone to scatter into small groups of individual units. Effectively cutting off contact with the group that had supposedly sent the 'cons on the retreat instead.

When the entire squadron came back in relatively one piece, if you ignore the frazzled look Blaster was wearing as he dragged a glitching Red Alert into Medbay, Prowl only managed to shutter his optics once in surprise at Second Lieutenant Jazz in surprise before his logic center froze up at the statistical impossibility of that unit surviving.

Ratchet made up for it though by throwing a few extra wrenches around at the group in greeting.


	17. If Springer has it, you do not need it

**When you get the coveted 1,000 yard stare, don't forget about the enemy who is 30 yards away and about to pop your ass.

* * *

**

This time, everything and anything about the latest fragged beyond belief mission could be solidly blamed on the Wreckers. A first considering the group of glitched addled battle junkies Prowl had to lead, Ratchet had to fix, and Wheeljack, Red Alert, and Blaster had to live with. So it had actually been with some awe and wonderment to watch Blaster patch a line in to Xantium and witness as Prowl, holding a severed doorwing in one hand just glared at the slightly confused expression Springer was giving the normally stoic tactician before optics turned towards the singed Communication bot and the equally singed and ash covered unofficial security bot.

"Don't tell me, the idiots got the optical upgrade, but forgot how to cancel the zoom to protect the rear echelon, let alone their own hides from the 'con standing right next to them?"

Wheeljack was certain if Ratchet wouldn't have deactivated Prowl for doing so, and Springer was actually here, and not on a video screen, that still sparking doorwing would have been thrown with enough force to rattle computer chips in that green helm.


	18. Accident or a cunning plan?

**

* * *

Any vehicle can be a minesweeper . . . . once.

* * *

**

At first they all had voiced doubt about the motion for everyone to learn and carry the newly modified grenades. Especially, to those who have lived this long with the inventor that had some sort of good nature vendetta against the medic that only those two understood. While others just edged away while speaking their last prayers to Primus at the thought of an entire platoon armed with anything worse then a field rifle.

Until the day that a new seeker had quite literally popped up on the battlefield and in front of the worst mechs to startle when they were holding anything that could be detrimental to ones health. Prowl though, didn't believe that Skywarp would attempt teleporting into the middle of their unit again. Not after causing a chain reaction from the bombs that several of the soldiers had stuck to the walls of the building in boredom.


	19. This base is a living drinking game

**Laser sights work both ways

* * *

**

Somehow this could be traced back to the Wreckers (As they tended to pop in from time to time as this was the base on the edge of known civilization.) or that insufferably cheerful Second Lieutenant (Who was either insane or was somehow going to end up transferred out here, oh Primus no for the sake of Prowl's logic and Red Alert's paranoia.), as it never seemed to fail that after a visit from one or both (Wheeljack was considering becoming a devout follower of Primus if it would somehow keep that lone incident of both showing up at the same time from happening again.) to the base was then followed by an act of such stupidity that most have learned to update their will chips after the visit automatically now. With this particular incident of stupidity that Prowl would have the lovely (Ratchet was already prepping the defragging programs and had Blaster and Red Alert on carting the dead weight detail.) pleasure of attempting to explain in professional and exceedingly complicated military jargon in the latest forged status reports. (Forged simply by the fact their base commander had somehow gone MIA and no one had mounted enough will or caring to look for him or request a new one.)

Though Wheeljack was certain whoever read these reports, and there was probably a large group with a stack of high grade that eagerly awaited the ones from them he swears, would probably understand impeccably with just two words and the list of casualties in order of severity.

Laser Sights.

Sure, they had helped a few of the more unable to aim and hit something the size of Trypticon actually hit once every two or so clips of ammo. However they were proving to be more of a waste then anything no matter what those at other bases were boasting. Though they probably were lying and just using the slagging things during target practice and drills, and not in an actual combat situation; really, a little pin of light was just asking to be used against the one using it. Red Alert had taken one look at the addition and refused to have one on his rifle or be in the same vicinity of another mech with one on the battlefield. Something that was proven to be the right attitude when a rather large combiner team had noticed the little red dots upon their chassis' and managed to avoid being shot due to the warning and then combined to ferret out the unlucky glitches who had attempted to be covert for some reason.

Then some of the cons began to use it on them, and it went to the pit. Even if it now became an easy way to distract certain people by sneakily having a sight show up on them and seeing them hit the ground for cover. Provided you then ran away really quickly before they gave chase and attempted to reconnect your pedes to your helm.


	20. There is no such thing as overkill

**When in doubt, empty your magazine.

* * *

**

Blaster was not a mech that found any sort of enjoyment in battles, and would rather have no reason to need to carry the bulky field rifle. But, war, and just the fact he for some reason cheerfully faced down the wrath of an irate and paranoid security mech, (He only really did it out of boredom and the fact having to share cramped working quarters with the red and white mech would have driven him insane by now if he had not decided to just be a cheerful pain in the tailpipe to breach the quiet.) had made him have no choice in the need to carry one. Oh, the rest of the base helped compound that and the wishful thoughts to maybe reformat to thicker armor model to survive.

So he was glad, no really, completely overjoyed, that for the most part he ended up in the rear echelon as acting support. The frontliners keeping the denser hail of fire trained on them also a bonus. It made it easier for him to be cheerful when he was out there, just to annoy whichever poor Decepticon was supposed to be hacking his communication lines.

Really, he was not battle material at all, so that glare Red Alert was sending at him wasn't warranted. Or that heavy sigh from Prowl when the report had come in.

How was he supposed to know someone had 'modified' his normal rifle to rapid fire if he held the trigger. He hadn't meant to empty an entire clip into that Decepticon's leg after the mech had popped up from out of nowhere and scared the spark out of him.

* * *

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

**Author's Random Announcement: **Just in case anyone is interested, I have a prompt meme going on in my lj if anyone wants to leave a prompt for me there. I may not be really quick with them (I still have two I need to do for two people, hurr), but, hey it's an offer for any interested. The address is in my profile page and you just need to copy+paste it and delete the spaces.


	21. Cover, you're doing it wrong

**Tanks draw fire. A lot of it. It does not behoove the infantryman to hide behind one.

* * *

**

The first time the Wreckers had to actually be on the field with them in a combat related reason, most of the unit flocked to the crazies. While Ratchet sat back and wondered just how much insanity one battlefield could take before it imploded just to save the universe from the soon to be stupidity vortex.

Probably why none of the higher ranking ones of the base were not surprised when the Decepticons, turning most of their attention to the gleefully advancing Wreckers still managed to take out half of the regular squad as well. While the Wreckers themselves got away with superficial injuries and a confused air. Until a note upon the wall of common sense this place destroys was painted stating that it was not a good idea to use a Wrecker as a shield. Especially when said Wreckers were under heavy fire.


	22. Misfire lives up to his designation

**There is nothing more satisfying then having someone take a shot at you, and miss.

* * *

**

No one was quite certain on the events, and thus when the rumor mill got a hold of it, the story had taken on near fantastical proportions. Which were not helped in the slightest by Blaster encouraging the expounding and speculation of it all, especially if one was retelling the story to those who were not personally exiled to The Pit (Some artistic mech had even created a welcome sign of such using scrap metal Ratchet was not going to use, saying that for over the main door.) and thus were not actually familiar with the black and white tactician.

The basic gist, when you took the more then likely over energized additions to the story out, was of how the Sergeant had, by lack of proper formation and relay points, was forced to travel from his vantage point to give tactical advice into the thick of things. Only to end up in point blank range of a very dangerous looking ray cannon being held by a jittery looking seeker. (The weapon and the seeker being completely unknown in any intelligence reports and thus was dubbed a variety of nicknames amongst the base.) There had been a pause as you could clearly see both sides of this sudden confrontation were contemplating in their own ways if this was actually happening, then the click as the powered up cannon was discharged. The flash and sonic boom of the weapon causing a few combatants to pause in morbid admiration, while others had started looking around for the mad cap engineer that was normally at the epicenter of such light shows.

Only for everything to come to a screeching halt, for once the dust settled one could clearly see Prowl still standing and unscathed and the seeker turning tail and retreating. The logic crash in the sergeant had been of epic proportions if one used the Ratchet's creative use of insults in various alien dialects was to go by, as Prowl had melted a few circuits in a very pretty show of sparks raining from his cpu attempting to mathematically figure out the odds of such happening.

Prowl soon became a lucky object to the more superstitious of the group.


End file.
